


Soleil

by allierrachelle



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 11:55:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11828232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allierrachelle/pseuds/allierrachelle
Summary: "'In Arles, there's a place... The statue doesn't look that much like him, but my brother is buried there. I used to go there sometimes and talk to him...talk to myself [...] If you like, I'll take you there when we visit.''I'd like that.'"Laurent takes Damen to Auguste's statue.





	Soleil

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on tumblr ages ago and just never got around to posting it here!
> 
> I was working for some time on a fic about Laurent speaking to Auguste’s statue throughout the years, but decided to give up on it because I’m lazy and also because honestly, it’s just kind of sad. BUT I liked this ending, so I salvaged it.

Laurent could tell that Damen was anxious, which was a rare occurrence, and looked paradoxical on a man who struggled to look anything other than regal. He hid his worry poorly, as he hid everything, wringing his hands together and then letting them go again. His dark eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was pulled into a straight and serious line. In spite of all this, he still managed to walk with an air of purpose, a regality that he exuded with little thought. It made it difficult to notice his anxiety, or at least it would make it difficult for those who did not know him.

Laurent briefly considered running a hand though Damen’s curls and assuring him that he was taking this too seriously, but it wouldn’t help, and it wasn’t particularly true. They both knew it was as serious as it felt; it was intended to be that way. Instead, Laurent simply reached out to stop Damen’s fidgeting, entwining their hands together. Damen’s hand relaxed, wrapping around Laurent’s cold fingers, and followed Laurent as he slowly led them through paths of flowers and greenery.

Spring in Vere occasionally brought with it the sun, but very little by way of warmth. The wind blew through the trees from time to time, making the freshly green leaves sway, turning their tips golden in the sunlight. As beautiful as it may have been, it was still cold, as Laurent had warned that it would be. Damen stubbornly insisted on wearing a chiton regardless, adorned with a red cape, attached at the shoulder.

_“I would like to wear my own clothing,"_ Damen had said when Laurent suggested Veretian clothing. He hesitated before he continued, _“I feel it's important that I greet him as the King of Akielos.”_

Laurent hadn’t pressed the issue further than that. They walked in silence through the garden that wrapped around the memorial hall, neither vocalizing the ambiance of the air around them or the significance of what they walking towards. 

Despite all of his nerves, Damen observed with reverence the garden around him, a part of the palace that he had never been privy to in his captivity. The gardens were full of intricate paths that wound around statues and fountains. The paths were adorned by delicate flowers that wouldn’t survive the heat of Akielos; Damen seemed particularly taken by these, occasionally reaching his fingers out to touch their petals.

Laurent’s free hand, stiff in the cold, eventually came up to rest on the warmth of Damen’s forearm. If Damen was bothered by this, he didn’t say it. Instead, he chuckled at the cool contact.

“How is it that you can be wearing all those layers and I’m still warmer than you?”

“There is more of you,” Laurent said, squeezing his fingers against muscle. “Insulation.”

Damen beamed at that, reveling in the touch that certainly went directly to his ego. Laurent rolled his eyes in return, though he wore a matching smirk. They returned to walking in silence, taking comfort in simple contact, the way their pulses beat together in the palms of theirs hands.

As they drew close, Laurent recognized the building as he would recognize his own bedroom. It was simple branch of a larger wing of the palace, ornate arches with glass windows lining the walls.

“Is this it?” Damen asked as they emerged from the garden tree, standing in front of a large, intricate metal door. Laurent nodded and slowed, stopping Damen with a slight tug on the hand. 

“Do you mind...” Laurent started, tilting his head back to meet Damen’s eyes. Damen stood expectantly, rubbing his thumb on the back of Laurent’s hand. It was grounding. “I would like to go in alone. Just for a moment.”

Understanding met Damen’s features, soft and loving. He planted a soft kiss on Laurent’s forehead. “I’ll wait here.”

Laurent brought Damen’s hand to his lips and pressed a quick kiss to his palm and another to his wrist, just above the band of gold that still rested there. Then, with a weak smirk, “Sorry for leaving you in the cold.” 

“Consider it requital for all the time you’ve spent recently in the heat,” Damen replied with ease. 

Laurent smiled. “I’ll be quick,” he assured, and then opened the heavy doors of the memorial hall and and slipped inside.

The hall was exactly as he remembered it, though it felt smaller. He was surrounded by family on all sides, immortalized in stone. It was completely silent aside from the occasional wind outside and the sound of his own footsteps, drawing near to his brother as if being pulled.

Auguste stood as he’d always stood; regal, proud, and carved with a jawline that did not quite match the one Auguste truly had. Despite himself, Laurent couldn’t help the tug of his lips at the sight.

“Hi,” he whispered as he reached out to touch the stone face. “It’s been a long time.”

It was impossible to think that he had survived to return here, with Damianos of all people. This was where, at the age of fifteen, he swore to himself to run a sword through the Akielon Prince, who was now waiting patiently on the other side of the door for Laurent to invite him inside. 

“So much is different. Uncle is dead. It’s just me now.” He cast a glance toward his parents and felt it then, the juxtaposition of his beating heart in a room of quiet stone. Laurent, the last surviving member of his family, was warm and remarkably alive in a place that wasn’t. It was a new feeling, though it shouldn’t have been. He felt, suddenly, as Damen did in the gardens, staring with awe at a palace he had never seen before as a free man. In a terrible way, Laurent understood the feeling.

He wondered if there would someday be a statue of himself here, standing alongside his brother, or if he and Damen would have a new memorial built on the border. They hadn't discussed it. After having spent long summer months together fighting for any future at all, their time recently had been consumed in preparing their union, building the future of their kingdom. The notion of planning for their death had not even come up.

Perhaps he would be immortalized in the Kingsmeet. He had never asked if that would be permitted, a Veretian king in a hall of Akielon royalty, but if Damen had any say in the matter, he already knew the answer.

“So much has changed, Auguste,” he said through a lingering smile, feeling suddenly shy. “I brought someone to meet you.”

It was new, to stand in front of his brother and feel nervous. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, or what he was looking for. He couldn’t decide if it was forgiveness or reassurance or a blessing, though he longed for each one of them. His heart ached standing in front of his brother, as it likely always would. But now, for the first time, Laurent wasn’t there speaking to Auguste to ease that ache, or to desperately try to fill the hole that had been left in his death. This time, he was here simply because he could be; because it was easier to bear his grief now that he had someone to bear it with.

“He saved my life. Many times over. I wouldn’t be here without him. I thought for so long that he was sadistic and selfish, but he’s kind and…irritatingly righteous.” Laurent let out a breathy laugh at that, imagining the objection that he would receive from Damen if he were in the room, the accompanying slight lift of his eyebrows and the tilt of his mouth, the single dimple that dipped into his cheek. He loved that expression, how easy it was to pull from him. He loved that it was always followed by a grin or a taunt or a kiss to the forehead. It was how Auguste used to react, sharp and amused.

“I have to think you aren’t mad. I don’t think it would be like you.” Slowly, the smile began to fade from Laurent’s face, suddenly growing serious. He hesitated before he whispered, “I so wish you wouldn’t be.”

Laurent searched Auguste’s face for some kind of resolution that he knew he couldn’t get, and yet longed for anyway. He shook his head quickly, trying to ground himself, to shake himself out from the weight of the room, the heavy feeling that filled his lungs.

“You know,” Laurent started, “I told you I’d never like girls.” He laughed into the quiet room, trying to ease the tension that was building inside him. He felt as though his chest was going to expand to its limits. He wished uselessly that they could speak, that he could have had the opportunity to ask Auguste about about all the things he never had the opportunity to ask about. Like a blessing for himself and the man that stood outside.

In a different world, he would have asked. In a different world, Auguste would have given it with a kiss to the temple, and no small amount of teasing.

Laurent still wanted it, desperately. “He’s going to keep me safe, Auguste. I trust him.”

Laurent glanced toward the glass archway at the far end of the room. Through it, he could see Damen still waiting outside, seated on a bench beneath a large, blossom-covered tree, partially hidden by greenery. He didn’t notice Laurent gazing at him, keeping his eyes fixed down at the golden laurel crown in his hands, fiddling with one of the leaves. Almost as quickly as Laurent had looked over, the sun broke from behind the clouds, veiling Damen, and the garden around him, in sunlight. He watched Damen squint his eyes and lift his head to watch the clouds break, smiling, as if it was nice to see something familiar and warm in a place that had been so foreign and cold to him. The sun reflected brilliantly off the gold on his wrist. 

The band’s twin sat on Laurent’s own arm. Laurent absently fiddled with it for a moment, noticing for the first time that the skin underneath it was kept milky white, while the skin around it had grown slightly pink from exposure to the sun in Akielos. 

Auguste had once expressed a wish to live in that same Akielon heat. He had said it sprawled out next to Laurent at the bank of a river, his eyes closed, resting after their ride together on Laurent’s twelfth birthday: “I think it would be nice to live in Akielos.”

Laurent had scrunched his face in confusion at the wish before Auguste explained with a chuckle, “Because of the sun. It would be wonderful to see it more often than a few choice days of the year.“ 

Auguste leaned back onto his discarded jacket, eyes closing in the spring sun that.

“It is more than a few choice days, and you would burn.”

Auguste opened one eye to peer at Laurent, shielding it from the sunlight with his hand. “Alright then, a few choice weeks. And you would burn too.” 

Laurent scoffed. “I would never live there, so it doesn’t matter.”

“You know, little brother, you can still burn when the clouds are out.” Auguste turned to his side, smirking. “In fact, _you_ could probably burn anywhere.”

“Auguste, we are brothers. If I can burn anywhere, then so can you.” Laurent retorted, arms crossed.

Auguste laughed and ruffled his head through Laurent’s hair. He squinted up at the sun with laughter still in his eyes. “Don’t be cross; of course I can. It’s likely that I am right now.”

Laurent watched in silence as his brother laid back again, closing his eyes once more. “Burned or not, I like the sun.”

The memory replayed for a moment in Laurent’s head, a small memory in a hall dedicated to them, making his heart clench. They had fallen asleep there by the river, eventually rushing back to Arles for Laurent’s birthday banquet, both with stripes of bright pink across their noses.

Laurent stared at the heavy twin cuff on his own wrist, and then back at Auguste, who looked impossibly alive for someone made of stone. Laurent knew the way Auguste’s eyes would glow when he laughed and could see them now as vividly as he could that day at the river. He knew the way he would laugh, the way he would joke, and the way he would talk about discomfort as though it was an unavoidable side-effect of something better to come. 

Slowly, Laurent felt the nerves ease out of him as the room became engulfed in sunlight as it finally broke out entirely from the clouds. It made dust glimmer in midair and white marble brighten and shine. 

“I like the sun too,” Laurent whispered. 

Auguste had always felt closer in this room, but never like he did then. Never like he was breaking a silence, filling up every part of Laurent with warmth and quieting all the questions he still had for his older brother. 

As if he was giving his blessing, in full.

Laurent reached out to touch his brother’s hand. “I have so much more to tell you. But Damen is waiting outside. He’d like to speak to you, I think.”

Laurent stepped back and took a steadying breath before walking towards the door, his chest growing lighter as it absorbed the light around him.

Slowly, he opened the door to find Damen waiting on the other side, still seated on the bench. When he heard the door open, he quickly rose to his feet, replacing the laurel in his hands to rest on top of his dark curls. The sunlight was still reflecting off the laurel in his hair, the lion above his heart, and the cuff on his wrist. 

Laurent looked at him and all he saw was gold. 

He stretched forth his hand, his cuff glinting in the light. “Come meet my brother.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> thecaptiveroyals.tumblr.com


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